Bastard
by Ronden Kiagre
Summary: An 8 year old Azula finds herself stranded deep within the Earth Kingdom with a nearly dead brother and little to no chance of rescue. Zuko and Hakoda learn that the world is not nearly as simple as they once thought. Sokka struggles to survive in a world he wasn't prepared to face. Katara confronts the darkest facets of human nature. And the Avatar? The Avatar slumbers on . . .
1. Prologue: Bastard

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan story. Avatar: The Last Airbender is owned by Michael Dante DiMartino, Bryan Konietzko, and Nickelodeon.

Author's Note: Yes I know I really ought to be working on _A Different Legend_ , but well, You know those things everyone calls plot bunnies? To stretch a metaphor, they kind of pulled a _Night of the Lepus_ on me, and I had to pick a couple to follow through on. So yeah, with that and college my time has been pretty full (even though I restricted myself to two new stories, one of which I won't be starting for a _long_ time, they both needed a lot of work before I felt they were even worth considering). The other story I plan on keeping mostly under wraps about, but I will say that it will be a BIG project (as in, "I'm planning to write a several hundred-thousand word fic _to serve as an introduction to the setting_ " big). But don't worry; I won't be starting on that until I've finished both this and _A Different Legend,_ which will be quite a while (possibly several years). Also I'm planning to call the above-mentioned prologue/setting-primer-story-thing _To Scorch the Sky_. Sorry if that got off topic, here's the story, and fair warning; it's gonna be violent and it's gonna be dark (as in "there's torture and slight implications of rape in this chapter" violent and dark), so faint of heart and weak of stomach beware.

Prologue: Bastard

By the standards of any northerner, the balmy, early summer's day that the inhabitants of the south pole were currently enjoying would have been considered apocalyptically cold, frigid enough to kill all but the hardiest of crops or men in mere minutes. Hakoda wondered once again why he cared about what a northerner would think of his homeland, before, once again, coming up with several perfectly reasonable answers to his own question. Yet none of them could rid him of the feeling that he wasn't being entirely honest with himself.

' _You know what this is about, the fact you don't want to admit it changes nothing.'_

Seeking a respite from his self examination, the former chief of the Yuupiik clan of the Southern Water Tribe deliberately focused on nothing but gazing out over the stark vista from atop the icy walls of the small town he called home. The fact that the settlement was coastal didn't bear mentioning; almost all of their food came from the sea, and warm currents from the north kept the shore just barely warm enough to be habitable by humans.

To the west the coast curved gently to the north until it reached the base of the long, crooked finger of rocky hills and Taiga that split the sea from the western sky. It also served a more practical purpose as the border between the territory of the Yuupiik, and that of their ancestral allies (and occasional rivals); the Tikaani (as well as the primary source of wood for the shipbuilding efforts of both clans).

To the east the shore was jagged, rocky, and broken by hundreds of bays, inlets, and islands as it fell away ever so slightly to the south. Over the horizon, and beyond the Uukarnit ice fields and the massive, miles-wide glacier that spawned them lay territories belonging to the Tulugaq and Tulukaruk clans, formerly a single band before a dispute over the title of chief led to them going their separate ways several decades ago, shortly before Hakoda had been born.

And to the south lay the jagged black peaks and not-quite-lifeless snow plains of the interior, home only to the massive flocks of penguins that wintered there, the Ugalik clan, and the wooly rhinocephants and yakopotommi they herded and depended on for fur, meat, milk, hide, and bone. Whereas the other clans were mostly sailors and fishermen who opportunistically hunted along the coast for prey like pika-squirrels and caribou-seal, the nomadic herdsmen only came north for their livestock's summer mating season, spending the rest of the year traveling between a series of sheltered hot springs in the interior.

The quiet crunch of beaver-seal skin boots on snow alerted Hakoda to the approach of another human being.

"I'm not sure I'm up for talking to anyone just yet."

"Yeah? Well as your _friend_ , I know that if I just let you mope all day you'll never get out of this rut on your own." Bato said as he took a seat on the battlements next to Hakoda. "And as the man who may very well be your _new chief_ tommorow, I know that I'm gonna be needing your advice on . . . well, quite a few things actually. And if you're busy sulking I know you won't be thinking clearly. So spill."

"You know me better than anyone except Kya and my mother; there's no way I really need to explain it to you."

"As a matter of fact I do have a pretty good idea. But we _both_ know I'm not asking because I'm curious."

"It's not like I haven't talked about it-"

"Oh. Because discussing it with _Kya_ and _Kanna_ is such a great way to relieve stress. I may not have ever been in a situation quite like yours, but when it comes to family issues, I know it helps if you have someone to vent at who isn't caught in the middle of it."

"Hn."

The two men sat in awkward, if companionable silence for several minutes, watching ragged shreds of cloud slide briskly across the sky, before Hakoda spoke up;

"It's been almost eight years now, and half of them still hold it against her, _and_ against _Sokka_. He wasn't even _born_ yet; he's lived his entire life in the tribe. He's _my son_ , no matter what Patuktuq or Tapeesa or anyone else says."

Bato sighed.

"Sokka's a good kid. At least, as much as can be expected at seven. He's a good older brother for Katara, and he's nice enough to the other kids when they're not going out of their way to pick a fight with him. I know that, you know that, and your family knows that. But as much as you might hate it, for some of them it'll never be enough that he's a loyal, contributing member of the tribe; they'll always find something to get angry at him for, no matter what he does, because to them, he's not _one of us_.

But that _doesn't matter_. Because he's _your son_ , and everyone who says he's not, that he can't be? Each and every one of them is another reason for him to turn around and prove them all wrong."

"I . . . It's just . . ." Hakoda struggled, whether he was searching for words or courage even he wasn't sure.

However, before he could prepare a response, the air was rent by the sound of children screaming.

* * *

A small, traitorous part of Sokka wished Silaluk would just attack him already. At least then no-one could claim _he_ had started the fight. Sure, they would still go on and on about what a _vicious_ , _violent_ child he was, and the less subtle among them would whisper to each other about _bad blood_ , and _shameful,_ and _should have smothered him in the cradle_. He may only be seven, but Sokka knew what they meant; Silaluk and Qimmiabruk had made sure of that.

Not that anything was likely to come of those whispers; they'd been floating around for years. And besides, Gran-gran and Mom, and Dad and Uncle Bato would never let something like _that_ happen.

' _Unless Patuktuq or Qamut get chosen as the next chief;'_ he thought dismally, ' _then they won't be able to do much to stop them that wouldn't turn the whole clan against them.'_

It still infuriated him that the fact that his parents _hadn't_ killed him as a baby had been used as grounds for a half decade whispering campaign to get his dad removed from office.

"Hey, freak. You think you can just ignore us?"

Turning to face the duo stalking down the alley toward him, Sokka answered Qimmiabruk with a glare. While he might hate Silaluk, the younger boy _disgusted_ him.

"What's your problem now, _Qimmiq_? You were all smiles back in the roundhouse. Oh wait, that's right; your _master_ showed up." he spat angrily.

The six year old snarled and lunged at Sokka, nearly foaming at the mouth with rage. Unfortunately for him, in addition to being a year older than Qimmiabruk, Sokka was about two inches taller and nearly fifteen pounds heavier, though still nearly a foot shorter than the ten year old Silaluk. And, after he had pleaded with his dad to let him stand up for himself, Hakoda had agreed, on one condition: he had started teaching Sokka how to fight.

Qimmiabruk came at him with his head down and his fists up, seemingly unsure if he wanted to throw a punch or tackle his opponent around the waist. Sokka surged forward, putting his weight into his shoulder, and bending his knees to try and drive it into the smaller boy's chest. But, for all his practice and newfound confidence, Sokka was still very young and inexperienced, and he'd never tried to do anything more precise than flail angrily at an opponent close to his size before; his shoulder strike went high, and Qimmiabruk's collarbone drove his upper arm into his side hard enough to knock the wind out of them both.

Staggering, Sokka recovered first; punching the smaller boy once in the gut to double him over, then grabbing him under the armpits, swinging, and _shoving_ ; sending him sprawling into a crusty, half melted snowbank with a panicked yelp. However, his triumph was short-lived, as Silaluk planted a backhand across his face, eliciting a cry of pain. Stumbling, Sokka felt blood beginning to run freely from his nose, as tears blurred his vision and the throbbing pain in his face and shoulder sought to divert his attention from the larger boy bearing down on him.

But before he could regain his balance, Silaluk hit him again, this time in the chest, and Sokka landed on his back, gasping for air. Then in came Qimmiabruk with what was probably supposed to be a heroic battle cry, followed by a kick to the ribs. If there had been any air left in his lungs he would have yelled, but as it was he merely choked.

"Go back to the Fire Nation, Freak!" Qimmiabruk jeered as he kicked Sokka again in the gut.

"Looks like the half-breed's not having fun." Silaluk chuckled. "That's just too bad, 'cause we haven't finished our training yet."

Bending down, the older boy grabbed Sokka by the arms, picking him up so that his back was to Silaluk and his feet dangled several inches off the ground.

"If Qimmiabruk is gonna grow up to be a warrior of the tribe, he's gotta learn how to fight Fire marines. Unfortunately, we don't have many of those around here, so I guess we'll have to settle for a Fire marine's brat."

"My- my Dad's name is Ha-"

"Shut up scum," Silaluk purred as he kneed Sokka in the back, drawing another scream of pain "practice dummies aren't allowed to talk back."

Hesitating for only an instant, Qimmiabruk stepped forward and began throwing blow after blow into Sokka's gut and chest. After what felt like an eternity, the younger boy stopped, panting from exertion.

"I guess that's enough," Silaluk allowed, dumping Sokka face-first into a snowbank "I suppose we can let you off easy today. I mean, you're probably already having a bad day, what with worrying about who'll be the next chief."

Rolling onto his back, Sokka gasped for air.

"It's not like _Hakoda_ will be getting the job back any time soon." Qimmiabruk taunted.

Enraged, Sokka made a feeble attempt to surge to his feet, only to be smacked across the face by Silaluk and slump back into the snow.

"If you know what's good for you you'll _stay_ down, Freak."

Fuming, the younger boy hocked and spat, and was satisfied to see his saliva find a new home on Silaluk's forehead. For several moments the only sound was the occasional soft rustle of a gentle gust blowing powdered snow. Sokka continued to glare defiantly up at Silaluk, even as the older boy's face continued to sour while Qimmiabruk chewed his mittens nervously to one side. Suddenly, and without a word, Silaluk grabbed Sokka by the wrist and began dragging him down the alley back toward the main path. Thrashing with all his might, Sokka still found himself unable to break free of the older boy's grasp, and a sharp, yelp inducing twist of his arm put an end to his efforts.

Twisting his neck around, Sokka's throat seized up for a moment when he saw that Silaluk was dragging him toward a nearby cookfire. Glancing down at the noise, the older boy sneered;

"I think it's about time we showed you how we _ought_ to deal with dragon spawn like you."

Scooping him up by the scruff of his neck, Silaluk began to press Sokka's face down toward the grey coals below, which while no longer glowing, were still more than hot enough to make the steadily falling drops of blood from his nose sizzle and evaporate as they landed.

"What's the matter Freak? Don't you like fire?" Silaluk taunted as Sokka gagged on the thin smoke rising from the firepit.

"Silaluk, I- . . . I'm not sure that . . . this . . . is such a . . . good idea." Qimmiabruk hazarded.

"Are you _defending_ this little traitor?" Silaluk snarled incredulously, "If I didn't know better, I might mistake you for a damn _Dragon Licker_!"

"I'm NOT a traitor!" Sokka yelled, only to be ignored as Silaluk stared down Qimmiabruk, who was desperately shaking his head. Growling to himself, Silaluk pressed down on the back of Sokka's neck with renewed force.

"I'M NOT A TRAITOR!" the younger boy screamed desperately, his eyes and throat raw and weeping from the smoke.

"LIAR! Half-breed, dragon-spawn _filth_ can never be loyal to the tribe!" Silaluk snarled as he slammed Sokka's face into the coals.

Sokka shrieked in pain and desperately began heaving and flailing against his tormentor, when suddenly, the weight above him vanished. Toppling over, thankfully away from the fire, he was shocked to realize that, for some reason, Silaluk and Qimmiabruk were screaming too.

* * *

Dashing ahead of Bato along a narrow alley leading between homes constructed from various combinations of snow, ice, and hide, Hakoda realized that the screaming had only increased in volume since they had started running. Tearring around several sharp corners, he caught sight of a bizarrely striking tableau: three boys, one was curled into the fetal position on his side, and two were more running in circles like decapitated pig-chickens, one of them trailing smoke and sparks from his smoldering parka, and all three were screaming at the top of their lungs.

Lunging into the open, the former chief tackled the smoldering child, and quickly rolled him through a snowbank to smother the flames, before glancing up to see Bato kneeling next to the fallen boy- _Sokka!,_ and murmuring softly to him. The screaming had stopped, but Sokka was still whimpering in pain from several large, relatively minor, but still extremely painful looking burns on his face and neck.

"What happened here?" Hakoda demanded firmly, recognizing the two other boys, and not much liking any of the probable answers to his question.

"He's a damn firebender!" Silaluk hissed as he got to his feet, pointing at Sokka.

"Whaleshit." Hakoda barked "Next you're going to try and tell me the Fire Lord personally ordered him to spy on us."

"Sokka and-, Silaluk got in a fight," Qimmiabruk started hesitantly, before Silaluk tried to interrupt, only to be silenced by a simultaneous glare from Bato and Hakoda, "and Silaluk got really, really mad when Sokka spat on him. So he tried to stick his face in the cookfire, but Sokka _threw the fire at him_."

Staring intently at Sokka's younger friend, Hakoda was only vaguely aware of the gathering crowd around them.

"And you're absolutely _sure_ that it wasn't hot coals he threw?"

Rather than vocalize a response, Qimmiabruk pointed at the cookfire in question. Following with his gaze, Hakoda allowed the cold talons of dread to sink into his gut.

Not a single coal lay outside the stone ring of the fire pit.

* * *

A/N: _I feel I should disclose that, as a guy who grew up reading Tolkien, Pratchett, and Orson Scott Card (Yes I'm aware that he's a homophobic_ asshat _, but in my defense; I was ten, my dad's side of the family is ultra conservative, and to be fair (most of) his books are still pretty good. And if we're being completely honest, Tolkien's stuff has some pretty racist subtext of it's own.), I'm a bit obsessed with world building. And as a massive fan of_ Embers _, I would like to disclose that that series, as well as a number of ideas (mainly the names of languages, and the fact that separate languages_ exist _in the setting) touched upon in the_ Romance of the Four Nations _trilogy, have been some of the main influences on my head canon beyond the original series. Not that I currently plan on using anywhere near all of the stuff from either of those series (half the fun of writing fanfiction is coming up with my own interpretation of canon), but readers of either fic will probably recognize some setting elements and (in the case of_ Embers _) historical events. And next, since there won't be any power levels in this fic, but I still feel the need to stick some kind of info dump at the end of the chapter you guys will instead get_ LINGUISTIC CREDITS!

In order of appearance:

 _Yuupiik: Blatantly borrowed (with spelling changes) from_ Romance of the Four Nations, _which blatantly borrowed it (again with spelling changes) from the Yup'ik people of central Alaska._

 _Tikaani: Inuktitut for wolf_

 _Uukarnit: Inuktitut for calved ice (I know it's not a very creative name for a glacier. Sue me)_

 _Tulugaq: Inuktitut for raven_

 _Tulukaruk: Inuktitut for crow_

 _Ugalik: Inuktitut for arctic hare_

 _Patuktuq: Inuktitut for ice crystals_

 _Tapeesa: Inuktitut for arctic flower_

 _Silaluk: Inuktitut for storm_

 _Qimmiabruk: Inuktitut for Puppy_

 _Qamut: Inuktitut for sledge runner_

 _Qimmiq: Inuktitut for dog_

 _(And in case you're wondering, most of the names here are from_ Behind the _)_

 _(And for those who claim that the above instance of torture shouldn't have happened on the grounds of children lacking a sufficient capacity for cruelty, I would like to congratulate you on never having been made to participate in the american education system.)_

 _(Also, similarities to the backstory of any_ Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire _characters (living or deceased) are purely accidental. I realized right after I finished writing the scene. This fic was actually inspired by a craving for more_ Another Brother _, which is really good, but hasn't updated in several years due to the author focusing on other projects.)_

 _(And I speak from experience when I say that while second-degree burns aren't likely to do permanent damage or cause scarring, they are still_ very _painful. And while most young Water Tribesmen are probably taught about_ stop, drop, and roll _in this day and age, I once again speak from (unfortunate) experience when I point out that being on fire is not very conducive to clear thinking. And neither is being ten, for that matter.)_


	2. Chapter One: Home Is Behind

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan story. Avatar: The Last Airbender is owned by Michael Dante DiMartino, Bryan Konietzko, and Nickelodeon.

A/N: Warning: _extremely_ dark imagery and mentions of graphic violence and rape ahead.

Chapter One: Home Is Behind

Once again, Azula woke when her head thumped into the side of the wagon, and once again, she wondered what had possessed her to not only listen to, but _participate_ in, her mother's insane, desperate plan to escape the capital.

" _You can trust Yeng Min,"_ she'd said. " _he's a friend of my parents."_ she'd said.

Fat lot of good _that_ had done them when the caravan master he had paid to smuggle them out of Yu-Dao had recognized them, and decided that he felt more loyalty to coin and the Earth Kingdom than to his rightful firelord.

' _Friends in high places and all the good intentions in the world won't protect you from a slit throat in the middle of the night.'_ the Princess thought darkly.

She hadn't told Zuko yet, not that he was cognizant of his surroundings very often anymore, but her idiot brother had apparently grown _fond_ of the cranky old fool.

' _Shouldn't be surprised; for all his foul language and pessimism, he was almost as much of an idealist as Zuko.'_

She snorted quietly to herself; and hadn't the _other_ part of Mom's plan worked out so much in their favor. Since Lady Ursa had so selflessly risked her life to draw their pursuers off their trail, everyone who was looking for them thought they were still back in the Home Islands.

Her brother stirred, whimpering softly through his gag.

"Shut up you big crybaby." she whispered, eternally glad she had managed to spit her own gag a few days earlier, even if she had to quickly put it back in whenever their _caretakers_ brought them what passed for food among the peasantry, or came with medicine for Zuko's burn.

That must be it she decided. She had been overcome with spite and vindictiveness when Father had proven himself to be such a fool and a hypocrite. But then, she had allowed her emotions to rule her actions just as he had, hadn't she?

' _It can't be allowed to happen again.'_ she resolved. ' _Not if I want to get out of this alive.'_

Oh, she certainly didn't think the Earth Kingdom was likely to have them killed, they made for far too valuable hostages. But she had learned long ago that humans were not always rational, and might fail to act in their own best interests, if their emotions dictated otherwise. And if they did survive, the chances that they would be rescued, or be able to escape on their own, once they arrived in Ba Sing Se were virtually nonexistent.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the wagon creaking to a halt, and someone beginning to dig through the crates that hid the two prisoners from prying eyes. Moving quickly she began working the gag back into her mouth, wishing, as she often had the past few days, that she had a means of slipping out of the bonds around her wrist and ankles that was less likely to draw attention than firebending.

Blinking violently as bright sunlight flooded into their previously gloomy crevasse between two barrels of fish offal and a crate of bottled sake (if the smells were anything to go by), Azula recognized their visitor and suppressed a groan. "Doctor" Dom-Lu managed to appear corpulent while still retaining the physique of a sapling, irregular lumps and rolls of pallid blubber hanging from his crooked frame like moss from swamp trees. His dark brown eyes looked almost as black as the few strands of his hair that had yet to turn grey or fall out, and his beard was a short and wiry affair that retained a hint more color than his head.

But his truly legendary level of ugliness wasn't the reason the Princess despised him.

"Planning to be difficult again today? I hope not." he rasped. "I may not be as foolish as some, to blame children for the sins of their forebearers, but your trickery hasn't made pleading your case any easier."

Azula glared up at him defiantly.

"Hmph. You still take me for a fool, and seek to outwit me, yes? You may be very clever for your age, girl, but a child you remain." Coughing roughly, he continued. "I have dealt with many children in my day; had seven of them myself, and going on a dozen and a half grandchildren now . . ." he began to ramble.

Azula rolled her eyes; he could probably continue like this for hours if he wanted. Eventually he finished mumbling at her and set about cleaning her brother's burn and changing his bandages, while one of the caravan guards brought over three bowls of steaming, flavorless slop. Awakened by the painful removal of his bandages, Zuko drank eagerly from the proffered waterskin, though he gagged several times at the smell of the "soup" before hunger won out and he forced it down. The Princess remained silent as she grimaced and ate hers. The gruel may have been foul enough to warrant an execution had it been served back at the palace, but that was no reason to forget her manners.

"Spoiled little shits." the guard murmured, no doubt thinking they couldn't hear. "Can't even handle a taste of _real_ food."

After the "Doctor" was finished with her brother, the gags were replaced, the crates and barrels piled up once more, and the wagon began moving again, Azula allowed herself the slightest smirk.

These moronic plebeians would never know what hit them.

 _All Lu Ten could see, in every direction, was black ash. Floating on the wind in blinding clouds, burying the earth so deep that he sank to his waist, forcing its way past his chapped lips and parched mouth to strangle the life out of him. He waded his way around drifts a hundred feet high, pressing on for reasons he couldn't remember. Time passed endlessly, without consideration to the laws of reality, yet still he trudged on._

 _After several centuries, the Prince began to see irregularly shaped lumps of something solid, scattered across the dunes. For years he paid them no mind; driven by the reminder they gave of where he was going, or more accurately, what he was fleeing from._

 _Finally he gave in, his fear of knowing what they were overshadowed by his fear of_ not _knowing_ who _they were. Forcing his way over to the nearest charred carcass, he was almost relieved when it stood up and revealed itself to be the first person he had ever killed._

 _Though every feature that had distinguished The Man in life had been burned away, Lu- Ten would never mistake it for any of the many other burnt corpses he'd made since then; he was intimately familiar with every minute detail of this particular lump of charcoal and overcooked meat. They'd been burned into his mind as thoroughly as he'd burned through The Man's flesh, and he'd seen them in his nightmares so often that he sometimes lamented that The Man was the only constant of the past five years of his life._

'I'm Dreaming.' _the Prince decided. '_ This is just another nightmare.'

 _The Man moaned, a brittle, scratchy rattle, made by a diaphragm trying to pull air into lungs that no longer functioned. An echo of the last sounds he'd made in life. Lu Ten smiled sadly; at least this nightmare was familiar, and wasn't likely to be as horrible as the one he'd probably have to face when he woke._

" _I'm still planning to find out what your name was." the Prince intoned softly._

 _The Man made a noise that Lu Ten chose to interpret as a vague affirmation._

 _A horribly familiar scream, un-muffled by the distance or ash between Lu Ten and its source, rent the grey-choked sky. On reconsideration, The Prince decided that this dream_ could _be as bad as reality._

All Hakoda could see, in every direction, was black ash. It'd mixed with the snow to cover everything for miles, even before the ships had arrived at his village.

' _Need to stop calling it that, even to myself._ ' the former chief resolved. ' _It's_ Bato's _village now, it has been for almost two years._ '

They'd hit while most of the men were setting out on a hunting expedition, whether by chance, or something more sinister, Hakoda was too jaded to make an unbiased determination. The Raiders had shown their hand too early, however. The hunting party, still only a few miles out, had seen the black snow, and had raced back home in the hopes of arriving before the marines did. They didn't.

By the time they had driven off the assault near on half the clan was dead, and their town had been leveled. Bato had found his wife and two youngest daughters dead in the street, with three marines raping his eldest a few yards away. Once he was done killing everything in the town that wore red, he was understandably indisposed, and many of the warriors had looked to Hakoda to lead them out of sheer habit. He had so far allowed the familiar task of making sure the tribe didn't tear itself apart to distract him from the lack of news on his family.

' _If they're still alive they'll need a chief more than a father in order to stay that way._ '

Messengers he'd sent to seek aid from the other clans were starting to trickle back, all early, all reporting plumes of smoke rising from the other villages. No aid was likely to come. The first order of business then was to move to a new site and rebuild, before the next storm or raid hit. Hakoda currently had everyone who could still walk piling everything that could be salvaged onto sleds, and anyone strong enough to pull one filling in for the bear-dogs the Raiders had killed.

Once they were sure their families wouldn't starve, every Yuupiik warrior, and every living man left in the other clans, knew there was only one option for what to do after.

As he moved about the rapidly assembling convoy of shellshocked refugees, Hakoda finally spotted Kanna, her arms around the shoulders of two children, he let out a breath he would have proudly admitted to holding. After a quick glance around to make sure everything was running smoothly for the moment, he hurried over.

As he approached however, his sense of unease grew. His children's trembling and tears he could have explained away fairly easily, considering what had just happened. But nothing he was willing to imagine could justify the silent tears Kanna was trying so hard to hide. This was the most stoic person he had ever met; she had lived through the darkest days of the war, and while he had been too young to understand at the time, Hakoda knew that those experiences had hardened her. A mere raid, no matter how horrible, wouldn't be enough to make her show her tears.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny what it meant any longer.

Hakoda screamed at the sky.

 _By now he was at the part of this particular dream where he started to wish he would wake up already, but Lu Ten knew that wasn't likely._

 _He was crawling through the ashes, dragged down by the grasping weight of a thousand vengeful corpses, and someone was burning to death. Sometimes it was his mother. Occasionally it would be his father or aunt. This time, as per usual, it was his cousins; dragged by the hateful Dead into the raging inferno that had spawned this hell of smoke and cinder, the only flame in this world._

 _And as per usual, the Dead made him watch, helpless as the children screamed, begging him to save them even as their flesh boiled away. But at least it wasn't one of the times where he was the one who did it. As had become his habit, he fought to ignore the happenings before him, having long since learned that nothing he did would change the outcome._

 _Eventually, the screams and the flames faded and_ Lu Ten's eyes opened to a sky of red canvas.

The tent smelled of herbs and blood. Lu Ten had little trouble deducing that he was in a casualty collection point of some kind. Although, it was rather quiet compared to those he had visited before. Upon trying to sit up to get a better look at his surroundings, the Prince was frozen with the pain of muscles stiff from long disuse, tearing through his upper body and leaving him helpless and immobile.

Conceding that he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while, the Prince closed his eyes once more, and attempted to recall how he had come to be here. Last he remembered, he had been leading the charge through the recently seized North Harbor Gate of Ba Sing Se, after which- . . . well. Things became rather fuzzy, as they often did in the heat of battle. But he distinctly recalled that the assault had not been going well.

A rustle of fabric brought a beleaguered looking physician into the tent, accompanied by a gust of frigid, mountain scented air. The thin man started upon seeing Lu Ten's eyes open, and hurried to his bedside. The Prince tried to speak, but found his throat too parched and hoarse to do so. The healer quickly produced a waterskin, and he drank desperately, until it was withdrawn. For an instant he was indignant, until he considered the strength of his thirst, and the suppressed pangs of his stomach.

"How long?" he managed.

"Close to a month." the healer answered gently. "We weren't able to give you much solid food, and for a time your illness prevented us from giving you even more than sips of water and broth."

"Illness?"

Something resembling pity flashed through the healer's eyes. At length, he answered.

"I will go and inform your Lord Father that you are awake. He will be able to explain it more . . . gently"

Lu Ten very much didn't like the sound of that.

"Wait." he called weakly as the physician made to leave. "Where are we? This isn't Ba Sing Se."

The healer sighed, now thoroughly downcast.

"No, my Prince, it is not. When you were struck down, the men's morale broke, and your Lord Father ordered them to pull back to the gate and hold there. After reexamining the enemy's deployment and fortifications, and taking account of our own not inconsiderable casualties from the assault, the Crown Prince determined that our current forces would be insufficient to take the city.

He commanded our forces to entrench themselves as best they could, so we might maintain our foothold in the Agrarian Zone until reinforcements could arrive. They held out for almost a week before it was decided that our current position was untenable, and we withdrew. And just in time too.

General Gang was bringing the entire Army of the Great Bai Mountains, along with Colonel Fong's Mountaineers, down the Green River Valley to cut off our supply lines. Prince Iroh was able to outmaneuver them, how I doubt I'll ever know, and we dug in behind them in the northern passes. They've launched several probing raids against our lines, but don't seem confident enough to launch a full assault. We're currently about two days hard ride south from Osenzakura.

But I'm wasting time, and your Lord Father will be much better able to explain these things." he finished before hurriedly departing.

A few minutes later he returned trailing behind a decidedly tired looking Prince Iroh. Upon seeing his son, the man instantly brightened, before growing sombre once more.

"My son. I am so desperately happy to see you awake. The physicians said you might never stir from your slumber again."

Immediately, Lu Ten knew something was horribly wrong. If there weren't, his Father would have tackled him in a hug, or, if his injuries were still severe enough to disallow that, he would have gushed for minutes on end about how worried he had been. And he would never be this formal.

"Father? What is it?"

For an instant so short that Lu Ten almost convinced himself that he had imagined it entirely, Iroh looked as if he had been struck.

"Lu Ten." he spoke gravely, the weight of doom crushing every syllable as it passed over his tongue. "I want you to know that no matter what, I will _always_ be proud of you."

The younger Prince was honestly terrified now.

"Dad?" he almost pleaded. "What happened?"

Iroh's breath caught, and Lu Ten could see tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

"You were struck in the feet and hips by many flying shards of stone. They were able to set the breaks and stop the bleeding, but then infection started to set in. They said that if they didn't do it, you would die slowly and painfully."

The Crown Prince took several moments to breath deeply and gather his resolve.

"They were forced to amputate both of your legs."

 _A/N: Yeah, about that last bit. I really wanted to see what I could do with the story if Lu Ten survived, but in order for a rather large part of the premise to work, he still needed to be removed from the line of succession. And thus we see what I came up with as a compromise. And I promise I will do everything in my power to avoid devolving into wangst, short of writing these guys out of character. Also, upon further consideration, I have put more or less all plans for_ To Scorch the Sky _on semi-permanent hold. Anyway, here are the_

 _LINGUISTIC CREDITS!_

 _Yu Dao: Canon. Fire Nation colony on the west coast of the Earth Kingdom. Only ever named in one of the sequel comics._

 _Bai: Chinese, meaning white or pure. Can also mean one hundred, many, or, exclusively in its masculine form, cypress._

 _Osenzakura: Borrowed from_ Embers _. Fanon name for the town nearest the resort where Zuko and Iroh recuperated from the Siege of the North._


End file.
